Grown-up by a Hair
by WitchesOfOz
Summary: Being a man requires a lot. You have to be tall, strong and fearless. You have to be jack of all manners of battle and master of each. And... you need a beard. Unfortunatley, this is the only sign of masculinity Loki is still missing while Thor has already been proud of it a long time ago. Read and witness: Not only Midgardians go through this massive crisis named "growing up".


**AN:** _So, on one of our fangirl-eves we ended up thinking about Loki's bodyhair. While the thought in itself is pretty awkward, we dare believe that every hardcore fangirl did already share it. This is the result of our pondering. Have fun reading it :)_

 **Disclaimer:** _Saying that this is entirely ours would be pretty hairy. Thus, we have to be honest and admit, that none of the characters in this story belongs to us. No insincerities here - not this time._

~*~

 **Grown-up by a Hair**

When Thor came of age, he deliberately showed off the first signs of the soft blonde beard he was growing. Soon, there was hair on his chest, hair on his legs, hair in his armpits – hair in almost every possible spot. And Thor constantly bragged about his masculinity.  
Loki, being a lot younger than his brother, didn't quite know what to make of it. He himself had been the one to first point the changes out to Thor – they had been playing (at least that's what they told their mother when she found them with bloodied faces and dirty clothes, they couldn't very well tell her they had come to blows over whose fault it was that they didn't know which training sword was Thor's and which was Loki's anymore), and while Thor had tried to rip whole strands of Loki's hair out, Loki had attempted to hold his brother's mouth and nose shut. His fingers had brushed over Thor's skin and it felt... furrier than usual, so Loki had just smacked Thor's face and called him a hairy hermit and told him to put the straw out of his face (it was one of his less eloquent moments which probably had to do with the fact that his hair was currently in the process of being ripped out by brute force).  
Thor, instead of cussing back at him, had stilled with a tiny frown, and let go of Loki's black strands in favour of feeling around on his chin, his eyes slowly lighting up. Loki had watched him, too bewildered to continue his own attack, and then Thor had run off yelling for mother with an incredibly proud voice, and Loki was left behind without any idea what was going on.  
And now Thor had hair _everywhere_. He could see it on his face more and more (though it looked ridiculous), he noticed it in Thor's armpits when he raised his arms (did _everyone_ have hair there? _gross_ ), he felt it on Thor's legs on the occasions when he still sought out his older brother after a nightmare (although for some reason it was getting more and more embarrassing to do so even if Thor never turned him away) and they lay next to each other beneath the blankets. And he saw it when they bathed together in a lake, or sometimes in the great palace pools together with their friends, and whenever that happened he felt himself blush and averted his eyes to Thor's face, because _really_ , that was just strange.  
Thor seemed very proud of his hair, though. Loki thought that it wasn't quite fair – when he mentioned his own hair (the one sprouting from his head, which really was enough of hair in his opinion), Thor sometimes called him maidenly, so why was this new hair a sign of masculinity when Loki's wasn't?  
When Loki confronted his mother about it, she merely chuckled and said in a soft tone, "Sooner or later, you will get that too."  
And Loki looked at her, his head cocked to the side and his eyes wide as the plates on the dinner table. "What? I too will turn into a sheep that is in need of shearing?" He had no desire whatsoever. Thank you very much.

But the time came when Thor didn't find it as delightful anymore either and rather cursed it than showing it off. He started thoroughly shaving his chest hair until his chest was smooth again and then he rubbed a special oil on his pecs that made them shine – the ladies liked that. But it was _tiring_ and it took so much time and the first signs of hair growing back mostly were showing again only three days after the last shave.  
One eve, Loki came to talk – to mock, likely – while Thor was shaving and he took the opportunity to complain. "Oh brother, couldn't you magic spell my chest so there won't be any hair growing back?"  
Loki smiled and wearing a smug face, he replied. "I was taught that not everything can be fixed with a spell, you know."  
Yes, Loki _was_ glad that his chest still seemed as hairless as ever. He had no troubles shaving and he often teased his brother with indeed having to do so more often than he pleased. Loki knew, Thor would never admit it, but this might probably be the first – and sadly also the last – time there ever was something Thor envied his little brother for. But mother had said, Loki's time would come, had she not? And then Thor would likely be the one mocking _him_.

But his time didn't come. He didn't know whether this was a reason to worry him or to relieve him. On some days, he decided he was rather glad about it. And on others he waited. Then he would be standing in front of his bathtub, a towel wrapped around his hip, staring in the mirror, searching for a sign of dark hair. Underneath his arms, on his chest, on his legs – anywhere. He would come close to the mirror, running his fingers over his skin, grabbing his chin and feeling for the soft heralds of a beard sprouting in his face. But there was nothing, not a single hair. And he couldn't help but feeling nervous and uneasy. Why was he not growing up?

Perhaps he wouldn't even mind that much were he the only one to notice. After all, even Thor by now was annoyed by his ever-growing fur, and Loki didn't see the point of it anyway. Still, now matter tedious the whole business was, for some reason it seemed to be the general opinion that as long as you didn't grow your personal fleece, you could not be considered a man. Nobody seemed to care that all the other things that came with growing up were very much present – Loki was gaining rapidly in height, his voice was changing (unfortunately he was currently at the point where it constantly changed between an embarrassingly high squeak and a low gravelly rumble whereas Thor's had already passed that particular stage a while ago), and even though he was still quite lean and lankier than pretty much everyone else, his muscles were nonetheless growing, if not even close to Thor's bulk.  
But he didn't have a beard, and it looked like that was the only thing that counted.

"Are you certain that it is a wise idea to let him have that, Thor?"  
Another feast. Loki could barely keep up with the numerous reasons for feasts that half of the time surely were invented for the sake of the feast itself, nor did he care to. But as per usual, his presence was required, and he might even enjoy himself were it not for the incessant mockery he found himself exposed to as of late whenever he attempted to do something appropriate for his age.  
Namely, tonight, the consumption of alcoholic beverages.  
The jug of mead a servant had just sat down before him was snatched away before he could even think of reaching for it. Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms and sending a blank stare in Fandral's direction.  
"Come on, Loki, don't look at me like that!" Volstagg and Thor both snickered as Fandral took a healthy gulp of Loki's drink. "Truly, 'tis certainly better if you don't drink it yourself – we wouldn't want our young prince to be inebriated when the evening has barely started!"  
"And what makes you think I have so little tolerance to lose my senses already after not even one single cup of mead?"  
Sif leaned forward, a smile on her face that was just wide enough to indicate that she wasn't entirely sober herself. "Why, my Prince, just look at yourself! With a frame that slender, it would be near a miracle could you still walk straight after that particular cup – you're barely more than a boy!"  
"I'm not much younger than Thor!" he complained, his voice betraying the instance that he was indeed barely more than a boy. He cleared his throat but it was too late. They were laughing already. All of them. Fandral nearly spilled Loki's cup while the hand he was holding it with vibrated with laughter, Volstagg's long, curly beard trembled when his rumbling giggles shook his whole body, Thor was slamming his hand on the table in amusement and made the mead in several cups spill over indeed, Sif bubbled over as she laughed like a hyena and Hogun – he merely grinned. And Loki huffed but he was embarrassed. He wished he could just vanish and leave those laughing dolts to their fun – but he couldn't, he couldn't just escape. But he would not embarrass himself any further. So he kept his mouth shut and glared at Volstagg's trembling beard and it reminded him why they wouldn't let him have his cup of mead. And at this particular moment, Fandral playfully tugged at Volstagg's beard and, giggling, he said, "You don't even have a beard! Look at you! We can't account for one that baby-faced drinking alcohol!"  
"Sif doesn't have a beard either; still you let her have it…" Loki countered.  
"But Sif is a lady," Thor interfered, "Are _you_ a lady?" Laughter, laughter again. Oh, he should have kept silent.  
"But a fine _lady_ shouldn't have mead at all…"  
Volstagg took a gulp of his cup, then he put it down with a thud. "Exactly," he said, cutting off the thundering laughter, "Then why do you even _hope_ for a cup?"  
It seemed they just wouldn't stop laughing and Loki's look darkened and darkened until he supposed it must be so dark that no one could see him anymore. It would have been better that way.  
"You know," Thor said, putting a comradely hand to his brother's shoulder. "Sif isn't a mere lady, she's a _warrior_. That's different. But you are neither. Your arms are nothing but bones, you couldn't even carry Sif's sword if you dared try!"  
"In case you didn't notice, I'm _taller_ than her!" That he was, but they wouldn't notice. They only saw his smooth face and called him girly. Discussing was of no use. They _wanted_ to make him furious. They would not get that.  
"Height is not the same as strength, brother," Thor pointed out. Loki rolled his eyes and didn't bother mentioning that he not only was taller, but also most certainly more muscular than Sif, and that he could handle swords twice as large as the one she mostly favoured. There was no point to this debate, really, all he had wanted was that one jug of mead.  
"And strength is not the only thing that matters, and besides has little to do with the ability to handle alcohol, I might add." He interlaced his hands in front of him and rested his chin on them, his elbows on the table as he sent Fandral a pointed look. "So, if you would _kindly_ return my drink to me, provided that you haven't spit in it too much?" A thin smile spread on his lips as he reached out and took it back, without much resistance for once. "I assure you, should your concerns prove valid, I will hold no one responsible but myself."

Nobody needed to be held responsible for anything this evening, of course. (Except maybe Volstagg for stealing food from Sif's plate because he was unwilling to wait for a servant to bring him something.)  
Naturally, despite Loki's delightfully un-inebriated state, which had absolutely nothing to do with his second mug's contents being magically replaced with coloured water (he simply didn't want to take the risk today), the topic of his manliness or lack thereof wouldn't just be dropped.  
"Mayhap he already is in possession of a beard, and just has become an expert in shaving it so he might better hide among the maidens in their private bathing chambers?" he heard Fandral suggest a while later to Hogun, who didn't react bar the sceptical lifting of an eyebrow.  
"That sounds more like something you yourself would do, Fandral," Loki noted amiably with just a hint of annoyance. He smirked as Sif instantly fixed a suspicious glance on their blond companion.  
"That's beside the point," Fandral interjected hastily. "The point is that it's not only your lack of beard that would make you quite unsuspicious if you were to mingle with the ladies..."

Loki did his best to drone him out. He had heard the same things often enough over the course of the evening and had grown tired of it. Still, he couldn't help but wonder, even later when the feast was over and he had retreated to his chambers for the night. Why _was_ it that he still lacked the one feature besides their fighting skills most of the warriors took pride in? Thor, when he was Loki's age, had already been prattling on about his facial hair for two years, and had as a matter of fact already begun to grow weary of shaving it.  
So, what exactly was wrong with Loki that prevented his body from developing the same way as all the other male Aesir?

He kept asking his reflection in the mirror. _Why?_ He brushed his thumbs over his chest as he stood there in his underwear. But he felt nothing but skin, cold, naked skin. _Keep glad about it_ , he told himself. Part of him was and part of him wasn't. How could anyone refrain from calling him _little boy_ like this? How could anyone put drinking alcoholic beverages past him, if not for half of the mead wetting his beard? How could anyone give him a real sword and let him have more than the straw and wooden dummy in the training range? He wanted to fight actual battles, his moves were by means as steady and nimble as Thor's. And he wanted to be taken seriously. He wanted them to notice that he was outgrowing the age where they could still manhandle him in any way they pleased.  
A beard. _Thor has a beard, father has a beard, Volstagg has a beard, Fandral has a beard._ He didn't. No sign of masculinity. He could match with the Lady Sif at most.  
He stared at his reflection, clenching his fists. He hated the sight of his lanky, boyish frame. He hated that he only kept imagining that his muscles were growing and that there were, in fact, only ribs and pale, hairless skin. But then, unclenching his tight fists, he let his fingers glide over his face. _A beard_ , he thought again and narrowed his eyes. And when he concentrated enough, he finally found a well-trimmed beard adorning his features. It went up his ears, like Thor's, it covered his upper lip, like Fandral's but it wasn't as long as Volstagg's or father's. It just covered his chin, as if to keep it warm. As two fingers wanted to brush his moustache, it vanished. Loki frowned. He found that it didn't suit him anyway.

Now, here he was. Was he truly that desperate? Did his helplessness drag him as far as to knock at this door? He sighed. _Weak, weak, weak – and impatient_. Perhaps his worries were without any reason. He still had time. Maybe Thor's time had come too early and his would come too late? He lifted his fist to knock. He needed to ask. But no, he didn't.  
And suddenly the door opened without him having to make the decision to knock and he looked in his mother's face and she found him there, his hand still lifted to knock. She gave him a startled gasp.  
"Loki!" she scolded, "You always appear where I least expect you…"  
For a moment Loki returned her stare, sheepishly – and as he realised this particular expression, he faced his shoes and his fingers started entwining nervously, completely on their own accord. "I'm sorry…" he muttered. "I just…"  
Noting her son's meek manner, she carefully put a hand on his shoulder. "I assume you better come in…" She guided him through the door and closed it behind him. He felt captured.  
"Now… is there something you wish to speak about?"  
"I-" The room's atmosphere made him drop the matter. It made him disregard the importance he had credited it mere minutes ago. But then he met her look, her loving eyes, he saw a trace of concern, he could read she expected him to confide in her.  
"Well, do you want to tell me?" He could feel, there was still a _You don't have to_ echoing in her kind words. She wouldn't force him. Still she guided him to a chair and her features told him to sit down and he obeyed.  
"It's just…" he fiddled with his sleeves, "Do you remember the spell you taught me, the one that can cast illusionary items wherever you wish to place them?" She nodded, silently encouraging him to resume, while she sat down on his other side.  
He softly cleared his throat. "I think I need practice…"  
Frigga raised her eyebrows a fraction, surprised. "Practice illusions? Why?" She hadn't expected something like that. Not that she had expected anything specific, but from the nervous, jittery behaviour Loki displayed, she had anticipated something more serious than a desire to practice a certain form of magic. Especially since Loki had picked up on illusions like casting them was his very nature, more than once had she seen him trick his brother in the training rings by replacing weapons with immaterial shapes that dissolved into green smoke whenever he tried to touch them. Thor fell for the trick every time so far. Why would Loki need to practice something he had already mastered nearly to the point of perfection? And what reason would he have to be that nervous about it?  
"Something's wrong with me," he suddenly blurted out, confirming her suspicions. Frigga furrowed her brow. Her youngest refused to look at her as he sat next to her, frame wound tight on his chair, his eyes shadowed and glued to the floor. "I mean- I mean, just _look_ at me! All the other boys my age are – growing up and getting stronger and muscular and growing a beard and, and chest hair, and everything, and... and I still look like I'm two centuries old or something!" He looked up for a split second before his eyes darted away again, but Frigga had seen the moisture in them already, just as she had seen his lower lip tremble. She opened her mouth to say something, but Loki was already talking again, obviously trying his hardest to keep his voice from cracking. "And it's not like I really _care_ about the stupid _beard_ and all the _hair_ because it must be annoying and I look stupid with a beard anyway, but the others think it's so funny and they mock me all the time because I'm just not growing up at all, and they think I'm a girl and they try to forbid me to drink mead and ale and they still give me the children's swords in the sparring arena, and I'm sure they think _Sif_ to be more of a man than I am and that's just not fair because why do I need hair in my face to be a man but Sif doesn't?"  
He broke off suddenly, wrapping his arms around himself and tucking his hands beneath his armpits so he could hide the visible tremor. His eyes were kept decidedly away from his mother's, looking anywhere but at her face. Loki couldn't believe he actually said that. He had had already made up his mind _not_ to say anything about it when she had ushered him inside, but something in her gaze must have inspired his self-restraint to fly out the window and leave him there to ramble in an embarrassingly ineloquent way about something that was embarrassing in itself already. And he was rambling about it in front of his _mother_. No wonder nobody could ever see him as grown-up.

He flinched when he suddenly felt Frigga's hand on his arm, gently prying them open a little and forcing him to release the tension that kept them in place.  
"Loki, my darling..." Her voice was soft, and now on top of all he had to fight the urge to fling himself into her arms and weep. Maybe he truly was still a child. He kept still. "You need not worry about what anyone thinks about you. You _are_ growing up – you have grown so much in the last few years, in more ways than just physically. But the change of outwards appearance takes time, my son, and it is different for everyone. There is no use in comparing yourself to your brother, or to your comrades. Whatever happens will happen when the time is right, and you cannot force it to come to pass before you are ready."  
Loki's expression was blank, facing his personal distance, his personal hiding place, his personal nowhere. And finally he unwrapped his arms from his body and stood up, pushing the chair he had been sitting in a few inches backwards with a loud screeching noise. "Then I suppose," he mumbled, "I might just never be ready…" And with this, he left the room – although he couldn't deny that Frigga's words had filled him with a little spark of hope again. He might just have to keep on waiting.

The fire crackled as Odin was fanning the flames and as they shone in a vivid, warm light, they seemingly illuminated the room's comfort. It made the armchairs look inviting and the wine looked rich and red as blood.  
"It's been a long time," said Odin, "since you have demanded an ear on a matter of that urgency."  
Frigga casually crossed her legs to release the tension and ease the grave atmosphere that had fallen over the room. "We talk far too little" she declared waiting for Odin to turn away from the fire and to let himself fall in one of the chairs.  
"There isn't much time" Frigga furrowed her forehead. "I am a very busy man. Protecting the Nine Realms requires a lot of effort."  
Her features softened and with a tender expression, she placed a golden cup of wine in her husband's raw hand, patting his knuckles carefully.  
"Take some time" she said, sounding almost suppliant. Their eyes met and Odin looked at his wife with an expectant gaze and Frigga knew, now he took time and now he would be willing to listen.  
"Loki is very upset and unhappy… and I am worried. The signs of approaching adulthood do not show as anticipated…"  
Odin took a sip of wine, hiding his nose and his eye behind the wide edge of the cup. As he put the cup aside, he cleared his throat in an almost subtle way. And his single eye constantly flinched to the side when Frigga tried to look at him. Odin was not comfortable with her request because it was one of those few things he didn't know how to deal with and it frustrated him.  
"How do they show?" he asked, sounding quite displeased about even having to ask.  
"He seems to be particularly bewildered that he just won't grow a beard… or body hair in general. Does this still seem… usual to you?"  
Odin got up, strolling over to the window. He looked outside, his hands folded behind his back. "After all this time, I have never seen a Jotun with hair in any place" he said, strictly staring outside and showing Frigga his broad back. And knowing his patience would soon be overwrought, Frigga got to her feet herself but stayed where she was.  
"Oh, why didn't you tell him?" Her hands gripped the arm of the chair she had been sitting in. "You should have told him earlier. It would have spared him his concern." Odin kept silent. And he kept unreadable. He turned his head, but only halfway and his face was as stern and emotionless as always. As always when Frigga brought matters to Loki. This one matter, Odin seemed reluctant to speak about.  
"I fear, the time will come when you will _have to_ tell him, even if you prefer to disregard that fact." Odin's eye narrowed. "Don't you agree that this is a good opportunity to-" She was caught off fiercely.  
"No." He turned around, his cape was fluttering behind him like giant wings. "Loki does have hair on his head unlike everything I have ever seen on a Jotun warrior."  
"Did it ever come to your mind that the warriors might _shave_ their scalp hair?" Frigga remarked boldly. Odin's look darkened even more as he came towards his wife, stopping mere inches before her. Frigga held her breath.  
"Enough" Odin commanded.  
"What am I supposed to tell him in case he asks again?" Frigga's voice was barely more than a whisper.  
"Tell him the same you told him then." – "But I cannot just—" – "Just tell him _again_. And do not tell him anything else…"  
Frigga pressed her lips into a thin line. She did not wish to fight with her husband, and snapping at him now would probably not exactly help matters. But that didn't mean she agreed with his decisions, and it certainly didn't mean she wasn't entitled to be angry with him for his unwillingness to confront this particular problem.  
"Very well," she said at last, her tone slightly clipped. Odin seemed to fidget a little where he stood, back by the window, but didn't turn around. Frigga continued. "I will tell him the same as before, should he ask again. But I would not be surprised if it left him unsatisfied, and if he keeps inquiring, I will send him to you, and you _will_ speak to him. Whether you find a reasonable explanation to soothe his worries until then, or you tell him the truth of his heritage, I care not." This was untrue, of course, she would much prefer for Loki to learn the truth, but she knew Odin saw this differently. "But I will not have you turn him away, and I will not have you tell him a lie. His concerns are valid, Odin."  
She waited for her husband to give his consent with a sigh and a single nod before she took her leave.  
But Loki didn't come to ask again in the following years, even though he was still very much lacking any kind of facial hair, eyebrows and lashes aside. Frigga wondered if her son had come to terms with the circumstances, or if he simply was too embarrassed to ask a second time.

~*~

Thor is tired. He is very tired, and it's much too early in his opinion to be out of bed after a night of drinking and feasting, but he is trying to prove a point, and so he has dragged himself out of bed with the first rays of the sun shining through his windows. (He has needed the assistance of a servant for that, because even though he had deliberately left his curtains unclosed, he would never wake at such an early hour without someone to shake him from his slumber.)  
He never should have been so responsive to Loki's taunts about his sleeping habits, but last night his brother has insisted that if he kept up behaving like he does in the evenings, he would always be completely useless in the morning afterwards, and he certainly wasn't about to take that accusation without protest.  
So, yes, he is proving a point to his brother, who for once has actually managed to have the whole table laughing at _Thor_. And that won't do. Thor is more than capable of getting up and being bright and chipper at any time he wishes to, and thus he is now on the way to Loki's chambers to challenge him for an early sparring session.  
As he knocks at the door, he hopes Loki might actually still be asleep himself. That would make the whole plan even better – to be up before Loki, who was said to often be up before even the palace staff got out of bed! (The reason he's knocking in the first place is a different one, however; he doesn't really think much about whether or not he might be waking his brother if he just storms in unannounced. Unfortunately, knowing that only too well, Loki has taken to placing a spell on his door to prevent Thor's thoughtless entrances. More than once did he end up with burned or bloodied fingers, because Loki's door would suddenly grow tiny spikes or grow scorchingly hot upon touch.)  
So, Thor knocks. A moment later, the door opens and therefore destroys any hope he might have of his brother still being asleep himself. Thor shrugs to himself as he enters the room – _he_ is awake too, and that's what counts.  
"Brother?" he calls when he realises that the bed may be empty, but so is the rest of the room, no sign of Loki.  
"I'm here." That came from the bathroom. He blames his sleepiness for not noticing earlier that the door to the adjacent room is slightly ajar, light spilling through the crack.  
When he peeks inside, he freezes, his mouth going slack in surprise as his words of greeting die on his tongue. There is Loki, standing in front of a looking glass, hand with the blade held deftly between his fingers still raised to his face, even as he turns around and stills his motion to greet Thor, a smile on his lips.  
Thor can't help but stare. "You... you have a beard." And he does. There's a short, dark stubble covering Loki's chin and one cheek, the other one already clear, the wiry looking tiny bits of hair scattered in the sink. It looks _strange_.  
Loki's hand lowers, and he looks at Thor with an expression that doesn't even need words to convey how much of an idiot he thinks his brother to be. "Indeed I do. Thanks for pointing it out to me, I hadn't realised."  
At Thor's questioning stare, he explains that he's been shaving for quite a while already now, and that he's surprised that Thor never noticed before. "I just think I look much better without it, so why should I keep it in my face if it is such an annoyance? And, while we are talking..." He smirks. "Congratulations on being up already. Try not to fall asleep again, at least not where anyone can see it – I imagine it would be quite mortifying."

As Thor leaves, confused and entirely forgetting about his intentions of sparring with his brother, Loki watches him go with an unreadable expression. Only when he is certain that the door is closed and he is alone again does he put the blade aside.  
Looking at his reflexion for a few seconds, he finally lets the illusion drop, the beard vanishing from his face as well as the sink and leaving his skin as pale and smooth as ever.  
"Oh Thor," he mumbles to himself, a faint grin on his face. "You will always fall for this, will you not?"


End file.
